All My Brothers
by Haley Hanson
Summary: The impossible was possible, tonight it had become a reality, Batman was dead. In the wake of the Dark Knight's demise Dick is left to gather what remains of the Batclan in order to hold his father's beloved city together. Dick-Jay-Tim-Damian-Others
1. Prologue

_Prologue-_

**A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. –Stewart Alsop**

Tragedies—

Their personal ones made them as unique as the costumes in which they chose to fight. Their own insight into a world of darkness and cruelty molded them, and shaped an individual out look that could never be fully understood by anyone else.

But this…_this_ was not a tragedy.

No, Dick thought it to be an indescribably simple impossibility.

"Richard…Richard are you still there?"

He ignored the question allowing the lightning to jam his pathetically cheap comm link, static drowning out Clark's emotionally overwhelmed voice.

Why couldn't anyone ever just be _whelmed_? Dick thought vaguely, allowing his curiosity and sense of humor to shield his mind from the terrible truth.

The impossible was possible, tonight it had become a reality, Batman was dead.

Dick for the time being had refused to acknowledge the fact that The Bat and Bruce were one and the same. That when one went so did the other. He couldn't afford to make that connection, one that would send him to his knees. When faced with a patrol that called forth Bludhaven's worst he did not have the luxury of simply taking a moment to break, to mourn.

But when the night quieted, as much as it possibly could, he allowed some measure of the situation to sink in.

Before dawn had even broken, before a new day had the chance to be christened weary black boots found the worn surface of asphalt. Dick hadn't taken the time to shower, patch himself up or even change into some civvies, only a beaten leather jacket.

From Bludhaven he walked, simply walked with no direction in mind.

He knew where he'd end up before he got there, and no thought had to be put into his steps. Mile after mile rolled by and while the distance was short the thought of explaining the events as Clark had dictated them to him was something that weighed down his every move.

In the fading kiss of twilight Dick finally found himself greeting a skyline that for the past months had been no more than a memory.

No matter where he started, all roads led to Gotham.


	2. Road to Hell

_-The road to hell is paved with good intentions._

**The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. -Maya Angelou **

Grit and grime, but paved with good intentions. Gotham would never be beautiful, nor would she ever be particularly normal, but under the haze of pre-dawn sunlight Dick could already see the progress that Bruce and his posse of allies had accomplished. The streets seemed a little brighter and average citizen seemed slightly less skittish than he remembered. Normally those would have been bounds and leaps towards what Bruce felt…_had_ felt would be the city's shining future. However Dick could not bring himself to relish the small victories as they would not last. After all, what chance did Gotham stand without her masked protector?

Not even half way to the manor, Dick felt his aching feet begin to falter in their already slug like pace. He was pushing seventy-two hours without sleep and found that his mental word games were no longer enough to keep him lucid. So when the sharp neon of 'Bill & Bob's Diner' pierced his bleary gaze Dick couldn't help but stutter step to a halt. He couldn't remember when his last meal had been, but the hollowness in his gut quickly took the backseat once the thick, bitter aroma of coffee assaulted his senses. The smell alone jolted a slight tingling back into his exhaustion heavy limbs.

_Just one cup, I'll get it to go. _

His plan had been a simple one and he didn't even care about the looks he got as he ambled in with his collar turned out, head hung low, and black body hugging suit exposed from the waist down. Dick offered a smile to his doe eyed waitress, patiently repeating his one word order of coffee until she finally managed to scramble away. While his body cried out for rest he refused to do little more than lean against the counter, if he took a seat there would be no guarantee about when he would get back up.

One cup of coffee couldn't take that long but each second ticked by with the intensity of an hour, and the gaze Dick felt burning a hole between his shoulder blades wasn't proving helpful.

"Dick." His name was called with an air of familiarity but underlined with obvious disbelief.

_So not feeling the aster—_

* * *

Turning as little as possible toward the voice Dick momentarily thought about just ducking through the door. But of course walking toward him was his newbie waitress, the triumph of her first completed order bright on her face. Squinting at the peeling name tag, Dick decided he wouldn't be the one to crush _Dana's _workplace enthusiasm.

So he waited, paying for his beautifully strong cup of Joe and leaving a generous tip while trying to pretend as if he hadn't heard his name called clear across the diner.

One, two, three …his boots clacked promisingly across the scuffed linoleum but with one hand on the door he found that a well calloused hand had taken a firm hold of his left shoulder.

"Dick."

The voice was closer and more incessant, like the speaker was willing Dick to turn toward him. With the meaty grip on his shoulder -the bruised one no less— he was basically forced to oblige.

Even in his sleep deprived, physically beaten state it took only a nanosecond for Dick to place the pair of startling green eyes staring at him.

"Roy."

The archer seemed surprised by such a clipped answer, no rambling or witty quip, just the simple exchange of one name for another. For a moment there seemed to be an echo in the diner, but it turned out to just be the waitress calling Roy to collect his order. In the time it took for the redhead to glance briefly at the counter Dick had slipped silently away, suddenly finding the strength to hurry down the pavement and disappear into the throng of Gothamites mulling about in the early hour.

* * *

In the hour and a half it took for Dick to finally reach the manor at Gotham's edge he'd had more than enough time to analyze and then over analyze Roy's reaction to his presence. The man had obviously been shocked, whether by Dick's lack of speech or his haggard appearance could be anyone's guess. However there had been no look of grief or wavering sympathy, the archer had no idea of what had brought him to Gotham and Dick had a sinking feeling that good ole Supes had kept the ordeal under wraps. The boy-scout probably thought it the polite thing to do. But that meant as the eldest it fell to his shoulders to not only inform Bruce's family but also the various heroes and vigilantes who remained in the dark about The Bat's fate.

Pausing at the wrought iron gate, Dick took a minute to stare down the looming mansion. A faint sense of anger bubbled to the surface but he choked it down by jabbing the call button with far more force than necessary. It took little more than a moment for the speaker to cackle to life. "Master Richard what the pleasant surprise! Is Master Bruce with you as well?"

The unbridled hope in the trusted butler's voice was almost enough to make Dick turn back.

But Alfie deserved better than that.

"No Alfred…he isn't."

The static died and without reply the gate swung open.

Dick could check one person off the daunting list.

When he reached the front door and had the novelty of opening it himself he knew in the pit of his stomach that Alfred knew now too, the fate of his beloved Master Bruce.

* * *

He found neither hide nor hair of the aging servant and figured he'd retired to quarters more private in nature. In walking the halls of his adoptive father's home Dick too felt a whelming urge to slip away and break.

How he ended up in Bruce's room he didn't really know or mind.

It was crashing in on him –the reality of it all. Being home, brought it _home._

Denial was too quickly being replaced with anger, sorrow, and an immeasurable amount of grief. He slammed the flats of his arms against the heavy wood of the door, not surprised that the sturdy oak didn't so much as waver. It was built to withstand Bruce after all.

'_You promised… you promised to never leave me alone.'_

Assured that somewhere else in the manor a strong, English man was doing the same Dick felt no shame when tears started rolling down his cheeks, carving a path through the grime his last patrol had left on his face.

"He isn't coming home, is he?" The tactlessly blurted question startled Dick from his emotional ravine. When he caught sight of a small shadow cast in front of the window he knew exactly who it was that Damian was inquiring about. He also knew that behind the carefully trained façade, the only biological son of Bruce Wayne was breaking as well.

"No little D, he isn't."

* * *

**Authors Note: Thank you Ranlou, CG07, and batman-defeats-all for the lovely reviews. This chapter went without being proof read, please forgive any major mistakes. **


	3. Park Row Residents

_-Park Row Residents _

**A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. -King Solomon**

A foundation of quality, one capable of withstanding the test of time always seems to be steeped in blood. The bond of a parent to their child is one of blood. If not biologically, at least in the sense that either would spill their own if it meant protecting the other. In all of his years Roy had seen plenty of blood, his own and that of his loved ones. But he'd never felt the substance so strongly embodied then when he trudged through Park Row, his hat turned down against the slight drizzle that by way of the darkening sky promised to turn into a torrent.

Water that ran across the pavement, sweeping through cracks and crevasses seemed to take on a rusty glimmer, a salty ting wafting above the long ago rooted scent of garbage and filth. Roy wasn't fond of Jason's realty selection, but the man had been so damn adamant that he'd had no other choice but to comply. Arguing with him was just as futile as trying to argue with Dick, or any of the 'bats.'

_Dick—_

Flashes of the others dreadfully pale skin, hollow voice, and grief stricken eyes hit Roy hard. The last time he'd seen Dick, Roy had been the one walking the thin line of the abyss. His longtime friend had tried to do right by him, had tried to help him, and he'd left him behind without so much as a goodbye. Roy had been angry and broken, that's how he had ended up with Jason, latched on to the only man who seemed capable of understanding the pain of abandonment and had a tolerance for murder.

In every sense he had left Dick as alone as he had felt. During that moment in the diner, when Roy felt utterly compelled to reach out to Dick, the other had every right to punch him and take his leave. Honestly the archer wouldn't deny him the chance either. Yet those emotion thick orbs of royal blue still managed to gaze at him with civility and compassion.

Seeing Dick so _dead _looking, it spun thoughts beneath his cropped red hair. None of them were pleasant either. Realizing he was thoroughly soaked, his thoughts having stolen him from the task at hand Roy hurried toward the abandoned building that looked over the decrepit alley like a weathered guardian. His sneakers sloshing through the crimson stained puddles as he went.

With little difficulty he swung himself up the rusted fire escape, squeezing his form through an upstairs window that he'd purposely left open. It was the only way in or out of the boarded up apartment complex and judging by the dark stain beside it he would venture to say that the only reason it too wasn't boarded up was because whoever had tried to attempt it was killed before they got the chance.

Park Row…he was beginning to understand just why Jason chose it.

* * *

Edging across the battered floor Roy nudged the sleeping lump curled tight on the thread bare mattress. The pathetic excuse for bedding and a tattered loveseat were the only items of furniture that could be scraped together from the entire complex. It was a good thing they didn't actually spend a lot of time there. Only on nights that left them too exhausted to crawl home did they bunk down here, for that Roy was immensely grateful.

"Ay, Jason." He snapped his soaked cap in the direction of the sleeping figure, showering him in a flurry of droplets. The man in question barely stirred, simply drawing a thin blanket above his midnight locks.

"Seriously, I didn't go get breakfast for you to just let it rot. Get. Up."

Rustling the damp paper bag obnoxiously, Roy settled himself on the plaid patterned loveseat. One of the six blueberry muffins disappeared into his gaping mouth. Through a face full of crumbs he let slip a long understood taboo.

"I saw Dick this morning, while I was downtown…"

Even from the distance Roy kept he could see the tension ripple through Jason just as easily as he could feel it.

"_I saw Dick this morning, while I was downtown…"_

* * *

There was no denying that Jason was now completely awake. He tried to swallow the tension that the one name had sent rippling through his body, but to no avail.

Dick '_Goldie' _Grayson was roaming about Gotham,and despite how he would have liked to say otherwise Jason had no clue why or when his so called brother had shown up. As far as he'd known the elder's fall out with the big man had kept him well within Gotham's sister city. No crisis that required the golden boy's presence came to mind either…

Rolling off the lumpy brick of material Jason glowered at the still speaking archer, having tuned out anything past the word 'downtown.' Throwing on a pair of ripped jeans and his trusty leather jacket he swatted Roy's hands away from the muffin bag and much to the redhead's chagrin took the remaining four.

Collapsing back onto the mattress with an ominous squeak of the floorboards, Jason amended the breakfast thievery with a mumbled 'thank you' somewhere in between bites. They weren't the same as Alfred's, nor were they as tasty but he would make do.

"Jason…Jason will you listen to me for a damn minute?"

Ice cold blue eyes swept upward, clashing against green depths that proved to be equally unwavering.

"I think you should…_try_, to reach the clan. Something doesn't feel right."

Aiming a mastered batglare toward his idiotic acquaintance Jason growled out a very firm reply.

"If they need me, they'll come to me."

Somewhere in the back of his mind he liked to think that he was still linked into to his estranged family, that some sixth bat-sense would alert him to any major catastrophe, if only so he could watch it unfold. But what was left of his rationality screamed that any connection that he held to any of _them_ had long been severed. The pop of gunfire saved him from the objection he could see poised on Roy's tongue.

"Time to go to work."

* * *

Sniffling and bloodied an attempted murder cowered before Red Hood, his bloodshot eyes staring down the dark barrel of a loaded handgun. Jason in a rare moment of hesitation half expected a batarang to slice through the muggy air and disarm him, he half hoped a swirl of yellow and green would blur through his vision and knock him aside.

Neither occurred—

Lowering the readied weapon, part of him began to agree with Roy.

Something didn't feel right

* * *

**Authors Note: So, this was my first time writing Jason. Even if his involvement was minuscule, I hope I didn't butcher his character. Thanks again for all of the reviews, I appreciate them greatly.**


	4. Something Personal

_Something personal-_

**Bad news isn't wine. It doesn't improve with age. -Colin Powell**

"_This is Jim Gordon-" _

"Hello, Mr. Gordon…"

"—_I'm not in at the moment please leave a message."_

* * *

"_Lucius Fox speaking—"_

"Lucius, I hate to have to…"

"—_or he would be if he was in. Please leave a message."_

* * *

"_Barry Allen here,"_

"Barry I'd like to…"

"_And here comes the beep, hope you know what to do with it."_

* * *

"_Hey it's Steph—"_

"Listen Stephanie…"

"_leave me a message and I'll talk to ya later."_

* * *

Barbara. Tim. Diana. Oliver. Dinah. Hal. Cassie. Kate. Selina.

They didn't even round out the list, not even close. But everyone seemed to have one thing in common, none of them answered.

* * *

Gently Dick set the phone aside, the ringing slow to subside from his ears. "Why are none of you there, where could you all possibly be?" Rubbing his tear tracked face he tried desperately to understand.

Gotham's entire entity had shifted by an amount so immense it wasn't measurable and no one but he, Alfie, and Damian knew. How did the others not know, how could they be oblivious to such a degree? Dick simply didn't know.

In the perfect world Batman wouldn't be dead. In a great world he would have escaped unharmed. In a halfway decent world the task of delivering the news of a Bruce's death would not fall to his shoulders. But Gotham was an exception, she always had been, and none of the categories suited her. None ever could. Batman, no _Bruce_ was dead, and he was dealt the task of informing all of his allies and children and friends. But how the hell was he supposed to tell them if all he ever got was voice-mail?

Huffing in frustration and grief Dick hardly noticed the approaching shadow, choosing to ignore it he flopped down onto Bruce's stiff sheets. They didn't even smell like him, not that he would remember the scent anyway. When had the years gotten longer, memories dimmer?

* * *

"You're going about this the wrong way."

"And how would you propose I go about it little D?" Royal blues swept downward across the seemingly permanently bitter ten year old, their depths softening despite the youngers prickly personality.

"Go public, announce it for the world to hear."

Sitting up with narrowed eyes Dick eyed the little bird oddly. "I can't." Carding his hair he met the others questioning gaze.

"Why not?"

"Because Damian, it's _wrong. _These people cared about Bruce, they deserve more than to read it off a television screen or hear it across the radio. They deserve something more personal…"

For a moment Dick didn't understand the anger that flashed violently across Damian's face, suddenly fearful of the half pint.

"How can it be personal? Bruce never made it personal, he didn't leave anything behind. Not to you, or me, or any of the others! He left and he didn't come back, but before it all he didn't even say _goodbye!_"

From beneath the anger Dick saw the sorrow that was consuming his little bird, and Damian was _his_ now.

Now that there was no one else—

"Come here." Pulling back the fluffy gray comforter Dick motioned Damian toward the bed. After a moment of hesitation he simply swept the little bird up and tucked him safely beneath the fabric. Together they hid like that. Damian sniffling and Dick holding him tight.

"He loved you, you know that right?"

Against his chest he felt the slight bob of Damian's head. "I know."

Before drifting off to sleep Dick had to wonder if Damian really knew, or if the answer was to simply appease him.

_Damn you Bruce Wayne, damn you for leaving us. _

* * *

** AN: The next chapter will have way more character interaction, I just felt this moment had to be present. For those of you wondering about Kori, she has sadly been left out of this tale because of my inability to write her character. Thanks as always to the reviewers. :)**


	5. In Hallowed Halls

_-In hallowed halls, they weep._

**To hurt is as human as to breathe. -J. K. ROWLING**

One by one they arrive, and amass together in the sitting room. It seems the door never closes, Alfred shepherding individuals from the lonely halls and front parlor to the overfilling couches of the den. Some of them are jet lagged and clad in pajamas, others seem weary in finely pressed suits, and the most foreboding simply stare at Dick from behind their various masks. He has collected them, ripped them from their lives in a manner very similar to the way he was ripped from his. The time is seven minutes past nine, but Dick won't let any of them go. Not when he's spent all the daylight hours clutching a sobbing ten year old until he'd finally fallen asleep. These people deserve to know before the news goes public, but Dick wished he could spare them the hurt. He would take it all if he could.

* * *

One by one they arrived, one by one Dick pulled them from the mass in which they had gathered. He separated them like a wolf singling off its prey. It didn't matter that they gazed at him with suspicion, that they wondered aloud and pointedly about why whoever went with Dick did not return. He'd still yet to remove his costume, the vibrant blue insignia painting a target across his chest.

Some were easier to handle than others, in fact Dick honed in on those whose reactions would be of a more tamed variety. The longer he could postpone the hysterics the longer he could prevent their pain.

Lucius was a smart man, Alfred insisted on being the one to break the news.

Jim Gordon, bless the man's heart, seemed to know without Dick saying a word. He held him like a son, a few slipped tears catching in his greying mustache.

The two of them were the easiest, they'd seen Bruce's mortality probably even before Dick had realized it existed. But after the two men had been checked off of Dick's mental list it seemed he had no other easy ways out.

"Barry." Dick sat the speedster down, grateful for Wally's support in the situation. When he managed to leave the room there wasn't a dry eye to be found and Dick had to take a moment to stand stock still beside the door. Bruce would never know how much he meant to people, and Dick hated him for it. From there the pain kept multiplying, the walk down the hall to a room unoccupied by broken friends kept getting longer.

* * *

"Diana."

"Hal."

"Kate."

"Selina."

"Oliver, Dinah."

The crowd hardly seemed to thin.

* * *

Swallowing thickly, and shutting the door against Dinah's quiet sobs and Oliver's pained silence he made the slow descent back to hell. Each step flooded his system with dread as he practically dragged them back toward the den. The couches were mostly empty now, only his sisters remaining. Dick didn't try to move them, and from the way Stephanie rushed him in a flurry of hard hitting blonde he knew that the message he'd been relaying all night was one they already knew.

Her petite fists beat weakly against his Kevlar plated chest. The amount of obscenities pouring from her delicate lips went unheard as he simply wrapped his arms around her and brought her to the floor. Dick let her sob and scream, Alfred standing at a loss behind them. He made no move as Cassie came forward and pulled the runny nosed, puffy eyed blonde from his grip and ushered her toward the kitchen.

His lips were still forming words even as the ear he was whispering in was pulled away, a slow mantra as he stared after them. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

* * *

He felt more than saw the wheel chair approach him, a gentle hand drawing his sorrow darkened eyes upward. Barbara stroked his hair tenderly, not minding that he still hadn't showered away the stale grime of his last patrol. "Everyone knows now, everyone knows." He leaned his tired head against the knees of his best friend, of the woman he'd longed to marry. But then her hand stopped moving and a voice that cut Dick to the core sliced through the grief heavy silence.

"So I suppose I don't count under 'everybody' do I?"

Dick's eyes shot open, though he couldn't remember closing them.

"Tim."

* * *

Anger and pain rippled off the teen, the rain dripping from his soaked hair camouflaging the tears Dick was sure were rolling from beneath the mask that still remained on the other's face.

In a swirl of cape the younger rushed back toward the front door from which he'd just entered. A surge of urgency shot Dick to his feet. Blood rushed from his head and the world grayed as his lead heavy feet tangled together and sent him gracelessly to his knees.

"Timmy!" The squelching footsteps across rain dampened marble came to a sudden stop. After all the sight of Dick Grayson kneeling in the hallowed halls of Wayne manor was jaw dropping one.

Staggering to his weary feet Dick stared at his little brother with pleading and apologetic eyes. His miss count of Tim's presence had been an honest mistake, one made by his own exhaustion. "Don't go Tim, please don't go." Dick was too drained to make the other stay and his pleading seemed to go unheard.

"I have to, there's someone else you seem to have excluded from 'everybody.' Despite it all Todd still deserves to know." Never would Dick have expected that response and the guilt that shot through him…screw whelming, the crushing weight of it all was _overwhelming._

Tim's voice was thick, an obvious effort being made to keep the flood of emotions from spilling untamed past his lips. He took one step, one step that in Dick's opinion was one too far.

"I won't let you." Rushing once again to his unsteady feet Dick tried to step between Tim and the door only to be slammed down into the marble, his ears left ringing from the impact.

"You're not Batman, who are you to stop me?" The raw grief laced in Tim's voice shattered any of Dick's resolve to get up again. With the words of his little brother ringing in his ear, Dick laid still. And his costume clad brother disappeared into the worst storm Gotham had seen in over a decade.

Dick was appalled with himself, a deep seeded self-loathing taking form as he peeled himself off the marble with Alfred's disturbingly silent aid. Because of all the things he'd done the day before, and tonight...letting Tim go was the easiest.

* * *

**AN: Timmy has finally arrived, and I have it on good authority that Jaybird is well on his way. I promise a full bat-clan (or really a bat-brother-clan) soon. Sadly the glossed over nature of the girls involvement will remain as such. I love them, but I simply can't write them at length. As always love for the reviewers. :)**


	6. Two Birds, One Black Sheep

_-Two birds, one sheep._

**Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. –Buddha**

Hard hitting rain poured from the pitch black heavens, the torrential downpour proving reason enough for the scum of Gotham to hole up for the night. Tim sprang from rooftop to rooftop without interruption, his grappling line propelling him at a somewhat suicidal rate. Any remotely rational thought that his analytical mind tried to force feed him was quickly and violently buried beneath a wave of rage and all-consuming sadness.

He could care less about what became of the Batman; it was because the fate of the caped crusader was so directly intertwined with the fate of Bruce Wayne that he was undeniably shattered. Sorrowfully Tim realized that in a matter of four days he'd have marked his first year under the name Timothy Drake-Wayne. Grateful that thunder drowned his grief stricken cry Tim kept his flying pace toward Park Row.

If Jason was in town, he knew exactly where to find his older 'brother' brooding. Catching sight of the weathered apartment building, Tim swung into the line with a new sense of vigor. The added momentum sent him crashing through a boarded up window on the third level.

Not caring to stop his fall, Tim tumbled gracelessly through the shower of splinters and across the empty flat. He felt the unarmored expanses of his suit give way to the jagged teeth of wood and glass. Stinging but thankfully shallow lacerations decorated his face, neck, and arms.

Carefully the teen tried to heave himself out of the treacherous mess he'd created with his unorthodox entrance. Tensing suddenly Tim turned his now unconcealed eyes toward the rickety elevator shaft, the exposed wires waved ominously before the dark outline of a man appeared upon them.

The undefinable silhouette landed with hardly a sound, his slow, methodical footsteps keeping equally as silent. In a flash of blinding lightning Tim caught sight of the daunting red helmet and on instinct launched a fist full of fly discs toward the advancing figure. In the suffocating darkness that followed the brief illumination Tim heard the discs clatter uselessly to the floor and in the next second found a boot connecting solidly with his stomach. The weight of the foot was incapacitating and Tim felt more than saw Jason lean in. Beneath the helmet he'd guess that the older was grinning triumphantly, if not a bit smugly.

"A bit far from home aren't you _replacement_?" An added about of pressure punctuated the hate spawned nickname, Tim struggling minutely to shove Jason's foot off of his chest.

"Daddy Bats send you, was he too afraid to see me face to face? That's pathetic Bruce!" Tim felt anger surge through his veins as Jason's foul mouthing took aim at Bruce. For once he didn't think about the words that tumbled bitterly and loudly from between his lips.

"Bruce is _dead_!"

He didn't know what exactly he'd expected or hoped for Jason's reaction to be. But Tim certainly hadn't expected to be hauled upward by his collar and thrown clear across the empty flat. Seeing the opportunity present itself Tim succumbed to the boiling mix of volatile emotions that had been brewing since he'd overheard Dick's crushing announcement. He launched at Todd, throwing his weight and emotion into every punch. It was a mistake that would surely cost him.

Made sloppy by his emotional overload, for every blow Tim blocked his opponent managed to land two more.

"Don't,"

_Punch._

"lie-"

_Kick._

"to me -"

_Full fucking body slam._

"Drake!"

Tim went skidding backward, his feet sliding across the rain slicked floor as he skimmed two fingers across the beaten wood surface to stay balanced. He was aching and drained and as he looked upward toward the man charging at him with unbridled anger he willed it to be the last blow and closed his powder blue eyes against the glaringly empty sockets of the helmet.

* * *

_"Master Richard you're in no condition to go after him."_

_"Dick, please…"_

_"Someone has to go after Tim! Or have you forgotten that Jay is armed, angry, extremely dangerous, and still uninformed of Bruce's death?"_

The argument had stopped there, if only because Dick had launched himself out the door. It had only taken a couple of seconds for the reality of just what he'd allowed his brother to do to sink in. Alfred may have been right, he was still exhausted and his wounds from his last patrol around Bludhaven remained unchecked. But he wasn't going to let Tim go it alone, if anything it should have been him going after Jason.

Catapulting through the battering rain Dick tried and failed to catch up to Robin, his pace considerably slower than usual, but as fast as his body would allow. Over the constant splatter of water and the occasional roar of thunder Dick could hear the sounds of a vicious scuffle emanating from the battered apartment complex that looked over Park Row. With what little humor he could muster he denied Jason any points for creativity.

On that thought he launched through the already broken window.

* * *

Crash, bang, snap.

Liquid green eyes shot open and Roy reached instinctively for the arrow he kept stashed beneath his pillow, it was his night to make a bed out of the thread bare mattress and as his luck would have it, it was also the night some two bit punk chose to break into their hideout. Snatching the collapsible bow from the floor Roy looked toward the now unoccupied loveseat that he'd last seen Jason reside in. Swearing under his breath he threw on a set of gloves and a domino mask before swinging down the old elevator wires.

By the time he'd arrived the fight was already in full swing and once he got a good look at Jason's opponent, Roy lowered the arrow he'd aimed with a gut clenching sense of appall. His first loyalty in a fight would most likely go to Jason, if not Kori had she been around. He didn't mind death where death was due but Roy wasn't ready to shoot a Robin, thoughts of evoking the Bat's wicked wrath proving to be a seemingly worthwhile deterrent. However he wasn't sure that Jason's wrath would be any more merciful.

Standing at a loss as the war between original and replacement raged on, Roy couldn't help the way his stomach churned as Jason brought down a series of vicious blows that without the padding of the Robin uniform might have proved crippling. And then that one sentence cut through the air and he swore time stood still.

"_Bruce is dead!"_

Forget churning, the archer's gut dropped through the floor. It couldn't be, the great bat bested. But considering Dick's sudden reappearance in Gotham and his ragged stated it would make sense.

Snapping from his thoughtful ravine Roy cringed as Jason's attacks became rage fueled and senseless.

"Jason! Jason stop!" His cries went unheard as Red Hood, Jason having disappeared within the guise, continued the beat down of the battered Robin. Unwilling to witness the death of an innocent, of an old friend's little brother Roy drew a hesitant trick arrow, one armed with a scaled down flash grenade.

Before he had the chance to fire it, a shadow sailed through the broken window.

* * *

Dick landed heavily, his ankles shaking ominously upon impact. But he managed to move with lightning fast reflexes, drawing energy from his last ounces of adrenaline. Taking a one handed grip of Tim's shoulder he pushed the other further back, shielding him with his own body as he faced down Red Hood's charging form.

Whipping out an escrima stick, only one of two, Dick shoved the shatter proof polymer bar outward with shocking precision. The beast of a man, his first little 'brother,' stopped cold as the stick came to press lightly against his larynx. With maybe half a foot separating Dick and Tim and a full foot separating Jason and Dick the fight came to a sudden stalemate.

* * *

Tim was really tired of having his mind blown, watching Dick soar through the shattered window and rescue him from what was sure to be a near deadly attack would have been one of his last expectations. Still, he felt the gentle hand maneuver him backward while Dick stepped between him and Jason's barreling form, the unexpected becoming a very clear and protective reality.

Tim however did not miss the quiver in his older brother's ankles, or the slight tremble in the hand that held him behind Dick's seemingly solid form. A rush of guilt washed over Tim as he for the first time considered what kind of toll Bruce's death and the difficulties of it had on his older brother. Daring to break the silence he reached out for Dick's shoulder with a quite whisper, but the Kevlar padded shoulder fell out of reach.

"Dick…"

* * *

Jason glowered with fatal intentions toward the Robin now cowering behind Grayson's protective stance. Denial was trying to unhook rage's deep rooted claws, a crushing sense of grief starting to bubble up beneath the two. Bruce had after all been a father figure, despite his lack of finesse in the matter. He'd had every intention of shooting the messenger in his emotion blinded beat down, one of his hand's shove within the depths of his leather jacket, a hand wrapped around the grip of his favorite berretta.

But dark promise behind the escrima stick poised at his throat kept him from drawing it though, even if he did doubt that the golden child had it in him to so much as tap him with the sturdy weapon. Jason wouldn't have the time to find out, because as quickly as Grayson had arrived he was crumbling to the floor. A head of midnight locks collided with his shoulder before the eldest of them crumpled to the side, the whites of his domino mask slit in the tell-tale fashion of closed eyes.

Accepting the truth in the situation Jason knelt slowly and viciously ripped the mask off Dick's face. The other's red rimmed eyes, closed under the weight of unconsciousness were proof enough. Behind the mask he wept.

* * *

Starring shell shocked at the scene before him, Roy lowered his bow. Seeing one bird in a broken heap upon the floor, forcefully unmasked- another standing with one hand reached out into empty air, bruised and bloodied- while the final black sheep knelt with his brother's mask gripped in a bloodied hand sobbed silently made him think that maybe, just maybe his relationship with Oliver wasn't the worst in the world.

* * *

**AN: Umm, don't know what to say about this one. Hehe.**


	7. The Journey Back

_-The journey back…is easier via stolen car. _

**A good leader takes a little more than his share of the blame, a little less than his share of the credit. -Arnold H. Glasgow**

Crinkled and bloodied Dick's domino mask fluttered lightly to the rain soaked floor. Jason, suddenly all too aware of the sense of suffocation that his helmet brought on began to claw at it. His normally skilled fingers stumbled through the safeties; a shuttering gasp sucked through his lips once the revolting metallic hood was sent rolling away, eyes still obscured by the red domino mask that too was ripped away unceremoniously.

Swiping mercilessly at the tears that dared to struggle down his cheeks Jason turned a wild eyed gaze toward the fallen bird that laid limp beside his knees. "It's your fault. You should have been there…you should have saved him!" With an open palm Jason brought his hand down against Dick's cheek with a resounding _smack_, the other's flesh turning a tender pink and then a violent red under the abuse. The sensation of stinging flesh returned him to some level of rationality.

Tim let loose an outraged cry that fell upon deaf ears, Jason already readying to deliver another blow, if only for good measure. But in the swirl of black hair, fair skin, and brilliant bruising a pair of heart wrenchingly pained royal blue eyes cracked open. The sheer amount of failure and grief that gazed up at him was enough to still his stinging hand.

"_You're right Jaybird, you're right…"_ Dick's whisper would have been an inaudible movement of lips to anyone but Jason, still the nickname was enough provocation to slap another bruise across the one that was surely already forming. It didn't seem to matter much though, by the time his hand connected with the fair skin of the golden boy those royal blues had already fallen shut once more.

Despite Tim's pathetic attempt to stop him, Jason hauled the blue bird over his shoulder with no concern for how it might further the injuries Dick had already sustained. He started toward the fire escape, being none too gentle with his human cargo. Wordlessly Roy swept up the annoyingly argumentative Robin that Jason had left behind; a quick jab to a well selected pressure point had the teen as obliviously compliant as his unconscious older 'brother.'

It wasn't an easy journey back to Wayne manor. The very sight of the looming mansion seemed to suck away what little life Jason still had in him. However the hum of the stolen car's engine comforted him to a certain degree. And though he'd never admit it, Dick's worsening pallor was enough motivation for him to barge right through the wrought iron gate.

_No_, it wasn't because Jason actually cared about Grayson, it wasn't that at all. He simply had to have the other live long enough to repeat that one phrase to him, the phrase he hoped when spoken lucidly would cleanse him of the guilt and regret he felt so suddenly invading his system.

"_You're right Jaybird, you're right…"_

* * *

**AN: So, this chapter is pathetically short and crappy. You have my apologies, I just didn't know how to transition our lovely bunch of boys from the apartment to the manor and thus this utterly poo like filler was born. I promise a much longer brotherly fluff-ball in the next chapter, anyone else see Jason's big heart starting to bleed for his brother? Love as always to the reviewers.**

**P.S. For any YJ fans: Did anyone else notice that in the sneak peak clip for this week's episode, the Robin uniform shown briefly is Tim's version...on a boy who looks nothing like my beloved Grayson? Kara's appearance struck me as odd too, wonder what they're up to. Anyway I'll stop rambling. **


	8. Neither Friends, Nor Enemies

_-Neither friends nor enemies…simply brothers._

**This terrifying world is not devoid of charms, of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile. ****-Wislawa Szymborska**

Take a breath, pause, and exhale.

Dick, while careful to uphold his sleeping front he took a quick assessment of his situation. He was surprised to find that instead of the cold, damp gutter he'd expected to wake up in— he was actually surrounded by a pleasant warmth and well supported on a softly cushioned surface.

There was no denying the ache though; it felt as if he'd been hit by train and a very large one at that. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air, but the aroma of freshly done laundry outweighed it. Only the slight scratch of bandages against his skin was concrete proof of any injury.

"I called him dad once, not daddy or father, just… _dad_."

Jason shouldn't have been able to tell when he had regained consciousness. Dick had practiced this charade, perfected it. He couldn't count the sheer amount of people who bought it, Batman among them. But this was Jason, _his_ replacement. It was highly possible the man was skilled in the art of picking apart such deceptions.

Or he could've been talking for hours.

With that tuft of white hair sticking out with stark contrast to the other's black dyed locks, the possibility of madness was always lurking.

"But he never called me son, not until after my death."

Dropping all pretenses for the chance of seeing the humanity in his otherwise calloused 'brother,' Dick willed his eyes open. For a brief panicked moment he thought he'd gone blind, only to realize that the room was almost as dim as the blackness that his closed eyelids provided.

It didn't take long for him to realize just where he was, the manor was a give in, but the bedroom of his deceased adoptive father took a bit more observation. Void of any particularly personal affects, it was the floor length satin curtains draped over brilliantly arched windows and the silk linen sheets beneath a goose feather comforter that gave it away. Only two days earlier he'd held Damian's rattled form in the same place on this vast mattress, hushing the young boy into a fitful sleep.

With a breath snatching effort Dick propped himself up in a sitting position, his eyes flitting toward the darkened silhouette perched at the foot of the bed.

"Fa- _thering was not always Bruce's strong point."_

He choked on the first syllable, voice breaking along the way up his painfully parched throat.

* * *

"Easy boy blunder," waltzing from the bed's edge to the first of three arched windows Jason took hold of the heavy satin fabric in both fists and flung the curtains open. Behind him came a muffled protest as he was sure his brother shrank away from the sudden dose of sunlight, then the protest became a groan of pain which, as was to be expected, bitten off.

Jason without even turning around could just imagine the edges of Dick's teeth tearing through the tender flesh of his bottom lip, one of few bodily expanses which had remained surprisingly undamaged.

"I said take it easy!"

His voice was a bit rougher than he intended as he rounded on the damaged bird, now hunched slightly with a grip over his bandaged abdomen. Jason stalked toward the bed with a vicious glower and without hesitation shoved Dick into the cushioned hold of the many pillows surrounding his battered form.

"_Idiot_," none of the usual malice marred Jason's hushed tone and he swore as he turned toward the mahogany bedside table to fetch the glass of water sitting on it he saw Dick smirk through his obvious discomfort. Half tempted to wipe the grin from the other's face, only the glaring gauze pad adhered firmly to Dick's cheek kept him from doing so. Beneath it Jason knew was a thickly painted glob of bruise salve.

After witnessing Alfred bandage up the broken blue bird, he knew there were other gauze pads situated with the same salve all across the other's body. Seeing the smattering of injuries Dick was saddled with almost made Jason feel guilty about how rough he'd been during the trip from the apartment complex to the manor.

_Almost._

* * *

Dick forgot everything the moment the chilled crystal of the delicate drinking glass brushed his lips. He sucked down the iced water greedily, a chill running down his spine. The liquid slithered down his throat, glossing over the sore roughness in sweet relief. Had Jason not snatched the glass away, Dick probably would have tried to swallow the crystal.

"What part of '_take it easy_' does not register in that bird brain of yours?"

The bite to Jason's tone was slight and Dick felt compelled to simply stare. It had been years since he'd gotten the chance to see Jason, to really see him, daylight included.

He looked too old, far too old. His devilishly hansom face carved with sharp angles and even sharper features. The icy edge to his eyes had softened, or the light was playing tricks, both were equally possible. But the standout of differences was the splatter of shallow cuts and faint bruising along the right side of Jason's face, most certainly caused by a left hand.

Tim was left handed…

_Tim_.

"Where is he, how is he?"

Dick did his best to keep any accusation from seeping into his tone, but the way his body jerked violently in a sudden attempt to rise was a clear sign of panicked worry over his younger brother's well-being.

If it affected Jason it didn't show, though it was seldom that anything managed to breach his bored façade.

"Believe it or not, the _replacement _is comforting that little demon spawn."

Dick's heart sank, a sudden wave of thoughts about Damian and what the past night –possibly nights- had been like for him.

"Help me… please."

* * *

Not in the mood to deal with Dick's mother hen hysteria, Jason complied with the somewhat commanding request. While attempting to be at least moderately gentle, Jason wrapped an arm around the slightly shorter man's waist and helped him into a sitting position and then a standing or rather leaning stance. He ignored the blush the rose across Dick's fair skin once the man realized he was clad only in a pair of dark gray boxers. Only the great boy blunder would be more concerned with his lack of clothing and not the large variety of gauze, bandages, and medical tape adhered to the majority of his body.

For a moment Jason considered draping Bruce's robe across Grayson's shoulders, at the last moment he thought better of it. Hesitantly he peeled off his freshly laundered leather jacket and helped it's new wearer get his arms through the sleeves. The look of curiosity shot at him through royal blue orbs was almost enough for him to take it back.

With eyes focused steadfast toward whatever happened to be in front of him, Jason mumbled only a slight explanation.

"I didn't want them to mistake you for…_him_."

That seemed to be all the explanation Dick needed. The whisper he got in return from good ole golden boy was returned just as softly as Jason helped him down the stairs.

* * *

"I'm sorry for your loss Jason."

"I'm sorry for yours ...Richard."

"Touché."

* * *

**AN: Jason does not come with an instruction manual on how to turn off the brood and turn on the fluff. Dick is nothing but fluff. This chapter is an odd attempt on trying to incorporate Jason's fluff with Grayson's fluff while Jason's brooding is kept brewing. Love as always to the reviewers. **


	9. Front Page Tragedy

_-Front Page Tragedy_

**And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total? -Tillie Olsen**

Flashes, dozens of them perhaps more burst to life at seemingly random intervals. Lightly his fingernails clawed into the podium, the neatly stacked speech waiting expectantly. Dick had tried to look his best, wild hair tamed, and a name brand suit Alfred had been proud of. But under all of Gotham's scrutiny he felt incredibly small and…guilty. Who was he to take away the city's prince and secret protector, who was he to cast them all back into the grip of vice and villainy that both Bruce and Batman had struggled to pull them out of? It felt wrong with all of those eyes on him, piercingly curious.

Bruce should have been standing up here, on the front steps to the company his father had established, and he nurtured. He'd done it once before, when Jason had— Dick still couldn't force the thought out. Couldn't force himself to relive the cowl captured video of his brother's lifeless, beaten body. That's why his father had done it, given the speech on these marble steps and erected the costume case memorial. Jason's memory and the lesson it had taught was never allowed to leave the man, not as Bruce nor Batman.

Why should his cross be any easier to bear? Dick had already decided it shouldn't be, he and he alone would carry the brunt of his mentor's final message. None of them were immortal. Not as Robin or Nightwing, or even as the Batman.

* * *

Swallowing past the painful lump that had lodged itself tightly in his throat, Dick tapped the microphone and lifted his gaze to the crowd. The chatter died away, recorders thrust outward to the fullest extent of each reporters arm. However it wasn't their impatience that finally propelled him to speak, but the lowered (or in Jason's case glaring) gaze of his brothers behind him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Gotham, I Richard Grayson-Wayne stand before you to make the first and only announcement on the topic of Bruce Wayne's untimely and unfortunate passing." A gasp rippled through the crowd, followed swiftly by a demanding silence. "As you may or may not have known, our father had been away earlier this week on a trip to Colorado. He was evaluating the progress of Wayne Enterprise's joint ventures with Queen Industries' local branch. On a whim he attempted a newly uncovered ski trail with longtime friend Oliver Queen. On the afternoon of Tuesday, the eighteenth of February an avalanche consumed the mountainside. Mr. Queen was thankfully rescued, but worsening weather delayed searches for Bruce. When the blizzard had cleared, only a shattered ski set and abandoned backpack were found. We now presume…I'm sorry."

Dick wiped at a few trickling tears, unsure of how genuine they were. The lies left a bitter taste in his mouth, but the story had to be delivered with the air of a trauma stricken child. It wasn't something he had to work at faking.

"We now presume Bruce Wayne, dead."

Click. Click, click.

It would be tomorrow's headline, a front page tragedy.

He felt more than saw his brother's converge on him, each sniffling or at the very least teary eyed for the cameras snapping to life all around them. Dick thought it almost comical how their cleverly executed charade had managed to bring them together. Lesser known members of the JLA had posed as rescuers and ski resort employees, giving forged testimony and actually causing a contained avalanche for physical evidence. Oliver played the part, posing for pictures as he entered the hospital with on job injuries that could pass for avalanche inflicted.

It was all very uniting, somewhat hilarious, and a complete lie.

Only the grief stricken faces of the public kept Dick from laughing outwardly about the thought that a little slide of snow could take down Bruce. They all seemed to buy it though, hook, line and sinker. Perhaps they'd all played the part of devastated family too well, after all Clark was down front sobbing into Lois' shoulder.

"His wake and private funeral services will be held this afternoon. But Bruce would not want Gotham to grieve over him. He would want you, his fellow citizens to act in his memory for a better and brighter Gotham. All Wayne funding in use and pledged for future use will be upheld, the charitable nature of our father's company continuing just as he'd wish. Thank you."

* * *

Stepping back from the podium, Dick allowed himself to be ushered away alongside his family. Together they piled into the black limo in which they had arrived. Once all pretenses had been dropped, and the cameras out of sight the mood turned solemn once more. It was a silent ride back to the manor; Damian curled into Dick's side while Tim and Jason attempted to be civil in one another's company.

Dick was grateful for the effort.

In his mind time was slayed by the hands of a clock, time was dead as long as the little hands kept slicing away at it. Without a clock in sight Dick felt time really come to life. It pulsed by with each throb of his still healing injuries, paused in time to the skipping of his heart as memories danced in an out of focus. Judging from the distance in Tim's and Jason's eyes he would guess them as lost as he.

But Damian, the youngest of them all had his eyes squeezed shut, braced against the world. And Dick could only wonder what Damian would have to remember, if he had anything at all. Were all of his memories tainted by the presence of cape and cowl, had Bruce ever shown his biological son the amount of compassion that had at one time or another been given to him, Jason, and Tim?

Threading soft black locks through his calloused fingers, Dick did not miss the sideways glance Jason threw at him; he just didn't care to acknowledge it.

"We're home baby bird."

"Dad used to call me that." Damian's whisper carried through the limo. His words drew a smile from them all, Jason included, even if it was tinged with a slight jealousy.

Maybe just maybe Dick thought, there was hope for them yet.

* * *

**AN: Really just a bit of filler to lead into zee funeral and will reading. A thank you goes out to all of you awesome reviewers, I promise the next chapter will have a bit more action to it. :)**


	10. It's Time Beloved

_-It's time…_

**Cursed is the man who dies, but the evil done by him survives. -Abu Bakr**

Below him were the sounds of a somber gathering. Black dresses, black suits, and hushed voices. Dick had already made a point to greet colleagues of Bruce's night job, warning them gently to keep a tight tongue around the various millionaires and socialites. For a while he found being the buffer between hero and human interesting. Those that never got to meet the man behind the cowl wandered in grim curiosity and those who had known him both in cape and corporate simply stood about like they had become just another fixture within the manor. But the tipsy playboys and ill clad gold diggers took an edge off of the situation's sick novelty.

"Oh, oh yoo hoo!" Pausing in his effort to track down a bottle whiskey Dick felt acrylic nails dig harshly into the pressed arm of his suit. The woman's meager grip turned him toward her and all of her glittering glory. She obviously didn't understand that a glaring scarlet gown was a poor choice in funeral attire. "Do you think Brucie would have minded if I took this?" The woman batted her eyes coyly as she dangled a beautiful pearl necklace just a few inches from Dick's face, his passive and patient mask warping violently.

He'd only seen that string of pearls a hand full times, most of which when he passed their image on the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Snatching the necklace with a tender hand he sent a glare toward the woman, one Bruce would have been proud of.

"Alfred!"

The finely clad English man seemed to instantaneously appear at his side, eyes weary as he accessed the woman set before him.

"Please escort this thieving woman and all others not specifically invited to the burial service out of the manor. Have Mr. Kent ensure they aren't filching any of Bruce's prized possessions on the way out." Turning on his heel Dick flashed the pearls just within the trusty butler's line of sight, satisfied by the murderous spark he saw ignite behind the other's eyes.

"Oh and have you seen my brothers?" Dick had noticed the steady disappearances of his adoptive siblings all afternoon, the last time he'd seen even a glimpse of them had been nearly half an hour ago.

While corralling the somewhat fussy crowd of money grubbers Dick heard a muffled yet distinctly accented call about taking refuge in the kitchen.

"Refuge?" Shaking his head as if to dispel an unpleasant thought he slipped through the thankfully thinning crowd.

* * *

None of the gatherings remaining guests seemed the type to give Dick any trouble as he strode nearly to the other side of the manor. He was immensely grateful that despite their normal attire of brightly sewn uniforms the leaguers had gone the traditional rout of dark navies and blacks. It was a sad day when the fashion challenged members of the JLA had a greater sense of style than the world's money elite.

Dodging past the den to avoid any sight of the closed coffin within it Dick advanced toward the kitchen. The arched slabs of oak that were normally thrown open to allow access to the kitchen from both the dining room and main hallway were steadfastly shut. How, Dick wasn't entirely sure. Those doors weren't exactly meant to be functional seeing as they easily had to weigh a ton each and arched upward a good single story.

However the amassed group of J'onn, Clark, Diana, and Arthur seemingly standing guard provided enough of an answer. Slipping through the opening Clark wordlessly provided, Dick stopped cold at the sight that met him, falling back against the solid wood heavily.

* * *

Jason had his back to him, surrounded by a soft halo of sunlight as he basked silently before the floor length bay windows. Tim was seated at the table. His feet propped up and chair leaned on its back legs while he supported his head with three fingers pushed to his temple, the unoccupied arm crossed over his lap. And Damian was seated on the top of the cabinets with his head bowed in an almost bird like fashion as he overlooked the piled high trays of lasagna, lemon bars, and various other cling wrapped concoctions.

"It's a stupid custom to bring food for the dead, is it not?"

Tim buried his palm in his head and Jason didn't so much as turn toward the little bird, Dick guessed the question fell to him, as did everything. "The food is for us Damian." Piercing blue-gray eyes glanced at him dubiously. "Twenty-seven lasagnas, four trays of lemon bars, two blueberry pies, and thirteen chicken casseroles all for us? We don't actually have to eat it do we Grayson?" Offering out his arms to catch Damian as he leapt from his vantage point Dick shook his head.

"Supes is going to drop most of it off at the homeless shelter after the service…" Setting the little bird down on the marble tile Dick turned his expectant gaze toward the two others who remained in practically the same position as they had been.

"It's time…"

* * *

Each step felt too easy considering the emotional difficulty of the task at hand. The actual physical weight Dick carried like nothing more than maybe a soda can. His grip on the polished coffins handle was a meager one, each of the overly plentiful pallbearers knew full well that with Clark among them supporting the empty wooden box themselves was a moot point.

Dick was upfront, Jason on the opposite side and Tim directly behind him. Clark completed Dick's side of the coffin, Hal and Barry stood behind Jason with Oliver bringing up the very end. Damian had come to the reluctant conclusion he was too short to bear the coffin.

It was a surprisingly smooth procession from the front steps of the manor to the family cemetery where a slab of land had been chipped away by Jason's own hands between the graves of Bruce's parents and his own that still stood despite his resurrection. Each of their grief heavy strides fell in step with one another. And around the seemingly impossible image of Batman's death amassed the people who had come to know and care for his calloused ways.

* * *

Chilly spring breezes whipped through the long stalks of grass. Blonde, silver, black, and ginger hair alike waved wildly as sunlight set tears aglow like diamonds. It was peaceful, beautiful even and not a thing like Dick had imagined. The week's earlier storms which had fit the dark brooding sense of nature he had expected had long since moved eastward. Part of him, the part raised by John and Mary relished the brightness. But the thoughts that spoke of him as an orphan once again screamed bloody blue outrage that the world would be sick enough to make such a devastating event filled with sunshine.

The service was somewhat short, no one able to find a word or phrase suited to the impossible task of summing up the entire life of a single man. But Dick was unsurprised to find he had the task of putting it into perspective. With the roses laid and dirt in the process of reclaiming its rightful home the eldest son cleared his throat.

"He was a father, though not always a great one, he was a father all the same. He was a son to not one but two great men." A tear slipped free from an old English man's eye. "A cranky yet reliable friend. Bruce was flawed and scarred as any man. Still he was a savior to many and a hero to some. The charitable Bruce Wayne, the goddamn Batman." Wiping his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve he watched through blurry eyes as Damian set down the final bouquet of red roses by the grave marker, careful not to obscure the simple engraving of "_Beloved."_

Jason dug the grave. Tim carved the stone. Damian laid the flowers. Dick gave the speech. Each one part to the crushing process of an entire funeral.

* * *

A few people lingered by the freshly turned ground, wanting to say a private goodbye. But not them, the birds of the bat swept onward like Bruce had taught them. Through a flurry of condolences heard a thousand times over they marched back toward the looming estate.

Tim rushed ahead, disappearing into the deepest most forgotten halls to avoid the scrutiny and or concern of his brothers. Each of them needed time to mourn for Bruce away from their collective family; they all needed an individual moment to come to terms.

Damian lingered outside, gazing at the distant cemetery with obvious bitterness. "It's stupid, the coffin was empty anyway. We could have at least filled it with his shoes or something…" Ruffling his neatly slicked hair Dick let the young bird brood, though he was careful to keep a time limit on it. Little D was too young to be his father.

Of all people it was Jason who didn't stray off, sticking a fair distance from Dick with an impassive face.

* * *

"The will?"

Dick had almost forgotten about it, glancing at his brother he shook his head.

"Later. Tonight let's…let's," He was at a loss having not had an unoccupied night for at least a decade.

"Let's get shit-faced." One could almost hear the bitter smirk in Jason's voice, and for once Dick did not argue his brother's crude suggestion.

* * *

**AN: Just a heads up for drinking, foul mouths, and brilliant stupidity in the next chapter. Love as always to the reviewers, and before I go I just gotta say how awesome it was to see Nightwing on YJ. Kinda sucks that Jason always gets skipped over in the animated series though. Cest la vie**.


	11. Something Like That

**(Hey you! Below you will find extreme OOCness, mild cussing, underage drinking, drinking in general, and ungodly dance moves. You've been warned.)**_  
_

_-Something like that._

**Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it. –Bill Cosby **

Four forks lay in various forms of disarray around the nearly gutted tin of blueberry pie; only the crust remained completely untouched. It was a surprising way to find common ground, a hatred for the crummy shell of desserts, pizza, and bread. Alfred would have been dismayed at the sight, but the trusty butler had asked a night off for the first time in history. Consider him crazy or possibly suicidal but Dick simply had not the right nor will to deny the man his privacy, he let the peacekeeper free, if ole Alfie really loved him he'd be back by morning with the scent of sizzling bacon wafting after him.

Four pairs of eyes, with each their own color of blue to them gazed in different levels of alertness around the table. It was with growing amusement the three elder birds watched Damian's head sink lower, eyelids fluttering open and shut. Darkness had long since fallen, hours passed in the quiet solace of lasagna, lemon bars, and pie.

Dick made to get up and carry the baby bird to bed; Tim however waved him down with a quick mouthing of 'I got him.' With bated breath the eldest watched carefully for any indication that Damian was going to snap Tim's head from his shoulders. It was quite the sight when batty boy junior curled tight into his brother's side and made no fuss about being carried, it would be later agreed on that Damian was not aware enough to figure Tim from Dick and had made the convenient assumption that it had been Grayson to haul him to bed. No one would correct him.

* * *

"That kid's a real piece of work Dickie-bird, meant in the nicest way possible of course."

Dick leveled his brother's wolfish gaze with a sudden shock of seriousness. Jason had never seen him look so much like Bruce.

"That _kid _is the son of Batman and Talia al Ghul. He was raised by ninjas and assassins, beaten within an inch of his life on a regular basis, and then abandoned on the door step of a man he'd never truly met. But he is _mine_, mine to love and protect and train."

Whistling smoothly from his lounging position Jason arched his eyebrows. "I never said he wasn't, just that smoothing him out might prove a bigger challenge than you're ready for. Trust me if I had any serious beef with the kid he'd be dead already, and you know it."

Dick smiled faintly as he cleared the table in a manner Alfred would be appalled at. He swept the crumbs off onto the smooth tile, leaving the forks behind as there was one more pie to devour before the night was out. "Do I Jay? You've come close with every single one of us, all it would take is one well aimed bullet, one you've never seemed to fire."

"Hey, don't go pushing your luck Goldie, or have you forgotten who wonthe_ last_ time we went a couple of rounds?

"From what I can recall I was practically dead on my feet and still managed to hold you at bay."

"Yeah with a stick shoved up my larynx." Jason scoffed as he stuffed a forkful of pie into his mouth.

"Coulda' been your ass. Don't talk with your mouthful, jeez how old are you again?" Dick took a forkful of pie for himself, nearly spewing it out when Jason shoved his entire tongue out with a mangled mash of blue dead upon it.

"Legal."

Orbs of royal blue clashed against green tinged oceans before Dick gave in and took a running start across the marble, skidding on socked feet to the far cabinet. "And you're asking me about my age." Jason huffed from the table. Dick had to dig through two layers of instant broccoli boxes –incentive for Damian not to snoop— before he found the mini fridge, temperature set to just the way Bruce liked his brew despite the fact he rarely drank anything but water and ginger ale.

"Pick your poison." Considering it was a party stash the contents were plentiful. Vodka, tequila, scotch, whiskey, champagne, wine, and beer lined up on the counter like a glass army.

* * *

Jason was still mulling over his options when Tim walked back in, eyeing the bottles briefly. "Damian's asleep." Opening another cabinet he watched with slight curiosity as the kid pulled out not two but three shot glasses. Tim reached for the bottle of vodka only to have Jason still his hand.

"I've been gone a long while lil wing but not _that_ long."

Tim glanced at Dick who patted Jason's shoulder with a frayed smile. "He's almost eighteen Jay, and considering the circumstances I don't see the harm in letting him have a little something to drink." From behind his tuft of white hair Jason glanced at Dick doubtfully. "Bruce wouldn't approve of it."

Dick's face hardened, "Bruce is dead."

Silence fell heavily around them and they each seemed to be sizing one another up. With their hair mussed, button downs open over undershirts, sleeves rolled up, slacks wrinkled, and socks bunched around their ankles they didn't seem the children of a billionaire or the charges of a strict Englishman. They all looked devastatingly human and shockingly young.

"He is, isn't he—"

Slowly Jason released Tim's wrist, his and Dick's eyes trained on the steady hand of their younger brother as he filled each glass to the brim with Absolut. Three different shades of blue met, glasses poised.

"Bruce." _Bruce_, they echoed as they knocked back their glasses.

* * *

Dick shuddered; Jason smirked expectantly in Tim's direction as the youngest cringed at the initial burn. "Who woulda' thought, little wing can hold some liquor…stick to the light stuff punk. Upchucking all that pie won't be pleasant."

Making their selections each bird ambled back to the table and propped their feet up because they could. A warmth that had been absent from the manor for a long time radiated out in the form of drunken laughter and slow spinning records.

* * *

"I hit him once, the first time I walked away. Yanked off my mask and pulled off my cape before diving off the edge of the building in all my blazing glory. The look on his face was priceless."

"When I was young I caught a really bad cold and he took the night off for me...For once he didn't hog all the blankets but he did eat all the popcorn and he sat through the child loved form of torture known as 'The Incredibles.'

"You should have seen the way his eyes bugged out when I blurted out his real name to prove I actually knew it, even the cowl couldn't hide it."

"The first time I did a quadruple somersault on the school's gymnastics team the judges disqualified me. Bruce said it was because I was just that good, I told him it was because I landed out of bounds. He still bought me my own blue ribbon."

"He and Alfred had to pick me up one day because I broke some idiot's nose in the school yard. Alfie rambled endlessly about how I should leave fighting for the streets, Brucie smiled and asked if I won."

"It was like he was physic, the night after I first met Stephanie he gave me _'the talk.' _I swear he turned ten shades of pink when I asked him what a condom was."

"He made half the JLA take me out for my first drink…in costume. No one carded us."

"Blocked off twenty miles of freeway the first time I drove the Batmobile…well he thought it was the first time."

"The first night he left me completely alone in the manor he called every hour on the hour and sent Dinah and Oliver over before nine o'clock even hit. He was home by nine thirty."

"When I was first starting out Harvey Bullock asked if I was a good lay. Bats broke his nose and Gordon split his lip."

"He taught me to play the piano."

"Alfie caught a cold around my birthday, Bruce nearly burned down half the manor trying to make me waffles the morning of."

"He used to let me stand on his toes and he'd dance me around the kitchen while Alfred let the music play." Dick smiled as 'September' by Earth, Wind and Fire started up. "This song was one of our favorites."

"You're shitting me." Jason stared at him, openly awed and cheeks red from laughter. "Alright bird boy on your feet."

* * *

The three of them looped and twirled, bumping unworriedly into various items of furniture. They shifted between each other, dancing disco and soul and even a very impressive display of swing considering their state of intoxication. Terribly off key voices sang in broken and missed lyrics, laughter sapping away the pain that had been such a constant presence.

"Hey-" The groggy whisper cut through the music all eyes turning toward the pajama clad ten year old rubbing his eyes sleepily in the doorway.

"Hey Dami," Tim hiccupped with a lopsided smile.

"Has he been poisoned?" Damian demanded, pointing a conviction filled finger toward Tim his questioning gaze aimed at Dick.

"Something like that little D, come here." Dick swept up the half pint and planted him on his socked feet as their impromptu sock hop carried on. A chime echoed through the manor, the music having stopped but voices carrying on.

"In the midnight hour I can feel your power. Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there…" There were two sets of eyes drooping by the end of Jason and Dick's pitchy Madonna tribute, Damian practically limp in Dick's arms and Tim leaning unabashed into the man who so loved to call him a replacement.

"Time to take the birds back to the belfry?" Dick nodded at Jason; the cleanup could wait till morning or well a decent hour of the morning.

* * *

Dick piggybacked Tim up the stairs, the other's head lolling limply on his shoulder. Just a few paces ahead of him Jason cradled Damian like a quarterback cradled a football. In an unspoken agreement they turned toward Bruce's room. After a minute or two of Tim's incoherent mumbling and a swift exchange of clothes, the four of them were snug in Bruce's bed.

Dick's breath, bittersweet from wine and whiskey lulled Damian back to sleep, Tim's arm supporting the baby bird's head as Jason added a final line of protection to their brotherly sandwich

None of them would be made aware of the incriminating photo Alfred managed to snap upon his return until it was printed and framed in Bruce's study.

* * *

**AN: I thought the boys could use a breather, take an edge off things. Not to mention this lovely picture by Eloni http:/browse(dot)deviantart(dot)com/?qh=§ion=&q=sleeping+robins#/d3hp24v was just too nagging of a muse. Too bad Brucie couldn't be there. Love to my lovely reviewers and a beaming brust of hope for future involvement of Jaybird in YJ.**


	12. Blindsided

_-Blindsided _

"**I've learned that good-byes will always hurt, pictures will never replace having been there, memories good and bad will bring tears, and words can never replace feelings." -Unknown**

None of them moved, in their bones it felt that the slightest disturbance might shatter the image before them. His hair was cropped neatly, cowl pulled back, and the sight was just as every photo and memory captured it. Bruce Wayne stood at his full height between the three of his eldest sons, a grim smile on his face.

It took a moment, a long moment for Dick to register that the image before him was not one that was truly there. The blue hue that came off the projection was enough of a grounding point, but he couldn't stop his heart from skipping a beat or two when he saw the familiar carved edges of cheek bones and pressed lips. This was the closest he'd come to being face to face with Bruce in probably four maybe five months, but the clarity of his memories held true and the life size hologram spared no detail, right down to the single dimple in Bruce's left cheek.

"Do we have to listen to it?" His whisper was soft but weighted as he watched Jason and Tim who seemed to be snapping out of their own ravines. Dick had paused the pre-recorded tape before a single word had left its—his, mouth. Despite having no true depth or color to them Dick could recognize the whelming spark in Bruce's eyes. That look radiated pride and love and forgiveness. But deeper down where only a true Robin could see was the silent and grim promise that despite all that pride and love and forgiveness…Bruce was about to shatter some part of their lives.

"I don't think he would have left it if he didn't intend for us to listen," Tim seemed to be avoiding looking directly at the hologram, pain easily read in his eyes.

Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked toward Jason who shrugged in a half assed manner. Despite his nonchalance he was obviously uncomfortable being under his old mentors gaze once more, even if those eyes were completely unseeing. He pushed play.

* * *

_"If you're watching this boys, I'm dead. I don't expect you to forgive me for all the times I've failed you, for not being strong enough to survive, but I do expect for you to carry on fighting the good fight. All these years I've watched you grow into exceptional young men, and capable heroes. All of my funding, equipment, and resources are at your complete disposal. Gotham must not be lost._

_Dick, my son there is little time to mourn. Of you all I believe you to be the most capable to take up my mantle. Make no mistake Gotham needs a Batman. While I understand how hard this must be on you, I need you to find the discipline to muscle on._

_Timmy, I need you to grow up a little here. Should your brother fall you can rise. Through the years you have proven reliable, if not a little too eager to please. Remember what I've taught you, how I've taught you. The world will need you, your strength and intellect. Keep fighting Tim, you will go far._

_Jason my partner, my soldier, my fault. Therapy and imprisonment have both failed you, just like I. Your work to clean up Gotham is commendable, your methods…deplorable. I see no point in asking you to change, your actions have proven you unwilling or incapable of it. But I will ask one thing of you, my moral code aside. Protect your brothers; protect them, even if it is from themselves._

_Damian—"_

* * *

A gunshot echoed through the cave the hologram fizzling into empty air. Jason still clasped the smoking beretta, blue-green eyes wide with disgust. "Enough." How dare he, the old bastard. It was one thing to tear him down; it was expected after all these years. But to insult Tim and Goldie with what were his last words was a new low. Even for Bruce.

Three gazes of different blue but the same glow of hurt stared calculatingly at the shattered chunk of technology.

Dick had expected the moment when Bruce would blow it but, not the moment when he was fucking blindsided by the goddamn Batman. Despite the cowl being pushed back, his face visible to them it still sounded as if it was the caped crusader speaking to them. Somewhere between the lines had been an apology and a subtle admission of skill. Such little tidbits lost easily in what Bruce had seemed to be screaming in their faces.

Gotham.

Gotham, Gotham, Gotham.

Would it ever stop being about Gotham, did the mission ever end?

Dick wasn't sure anymore, all the bubbly and comical moments they'd rehashed the night before suddenly seeming less significant.

* * *

"No one tells Damian…that isn't how he needs to remember him." Dick looked toward Jason and Tim both giving small nods of acknowledgement.

While his brothers, each lost in their own stupor ascended the staircase, Tim knelt and plucked the small audio chip that had flown free of the holograms smoldering remains. There had to be more, there just had to be.

* * *

**AN: This didn't really come out like I intended it. Bruce was little too harsh for my taste and it felt like more of a filler chapter than anything else. Love to the reviewers and a promise for one more extreme fluff ball before things get twisted. **


	13. Point Of No Return

-_Point of no return._

**Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them. -Oscar Wilde**

Swing-sets, Dick loved them even as an adult, well as adult as he was. Their chains jingled like bells and the seat always fit in a way that made him feel safe. The one in the yard wasn't the one Bruce had bought him, no it had met a slow rusted demise right around Tim's turn at being 'Boy Wonder.' This one was newer, but it would do.

"I really don't see the point in this Grayson. Why must I do it?" Damian looked up blankly from his position in the bright green seat; his fingers curled uncertainly around the swing's chains.

"You mustn't do anything, but why wouldn't you want to give it a try, too whelmed?" Dick gave a toothy grin that was capable of goading the little brat into almost anything. With a slight huff and puff he got Damian airborne with a few firm pushes. It wasn't long before Damian was pumping his legs of his own accord, a look fit for his age finally seeming to steal across his face.

Leaving the kid to his new found wonder Dick ambled back toward the picnic table set up beneath a nearby oak tree, the smell of burgers and hotdogs wafting through the air. It had seemed like a good idea, simple food and some fresh air. Lord knows that the afternoons Will reading disaster had been heavy on the dis and low on aster.

* * *

"It's easy to forget he's a kid, you know?"

Jason hummed in response; his face was still pinched in a way that betrayed the sense of rage bubbling just beneath the surface. If Dick had to, he'd bet every penny in his trust fund that Jay would be gone by morning.

"Don't you ever wish things could just last?" The question caught Dick off guard and he tried not to read the impending goodbye so readily poised on his brother's tongue. It was Jason after all; the only goodbye he could expect was an empty bed.

"The good things sure," his reply was guarded even though the other was focused steadfast on keeping their dinner from turning into blackened hockey pucks.

"You and I are too far gone Dickie-bird, Barbara and Selina too. But what about Damian, and Tim? What blood inscribed contract of fate says that this has to be the road they take?"

Dick arched a disbelieving eyebrow, watching Jason's muscles pull taught under his scrutiny. "Careful now Jay-bird, I might just begin to think you've started to care about us."

"Of course I care, the fact you aren't all dead is proof enough. But I'm serious Dick, doesn't Damian deserve the right to I dunno…go to high school, sneak food into movies, and take a pretty girl to prom or something? Not to mention that Tim could name any college he so desired without having to so much as write more than his name on the application."

With a quiet sigh Dick could not find the words to contest Jason's ramble. "Of course they deserve it, Cass and Stephanie too." His voice was quiet and resigned, the typical dose of Grayson's trademark optimism lost to weariness. "But you know as well as I it won't happen. That line, the point of no return, you cross it the moment you lay eyes on the reality of it all. I found the batcave, you stole tires from the batmobile, Tim idolized a batarang, and Damian being the son of the bat didn't have a choice at all. Once you've felt it, you've seen up close and personal… nothing can tear you from it." Dick knew it well, even joining the Bludhaven police had done little to fulfill him, Nightwing's birth had been no more a choice than breathing.

"So that's it then. We stare down paralysis, overcome death, and sacrifice our will to appease a man who isn't even alive anymore?"

"He never forced our hand Jay, every one of us came to him."

"He could have, he should have said no!" Jason jerked back from the grill, gripping his palm where an angry red welt was taking form. Leaping the wooden table Dick took the ice cold glass of tea he'd been sipping lazily and poured it over the burn, watching the slim amount of relief that registered in Jason's carefully controlled face.

"Nothing would have stopped us Jason, nothing will stop them."

"You could."

"But I won't. If Bruce was right about anything it's that Gotham does need Batman, and Batman needs a Robin."

"So which _one _will be your Robin?"

Dick dodged the question with a quiet sigh, he'd been weighing the same thought for most of the morning. Tim was quickly outgrowing the role, yet he showed no sign of wanting to take his own name. On the opposite end of the spectrum it was obvious that Damian was scrambling for an outlet, his desire to take up the title of Robin made clear from the start.

"Who says I'm going to be the one to take up the mantle?"

It was the first time in a long time Jason had seen any air of uncertainty around Goldie, and somewhere in his twisted mind he found he didn't much like an insecure Grayson. "Bruce said so, this—" He gestured toward the damp napkin Dick was pressing to the tender burn on his palm. "This proves it, don't make me say it more than once Grayson, but if anyone deserves that cowl, if anyone can use it to its true potential it's you."

"Thanks Jay…that means more than you know." Dick reached out to hug his younger brother only to have a red hot spatula brandished in his face. There was no look of apology or humor in Jason's eyes, only a neutral blankness that threatened to spontaneously combust at any moment. The blankness was an improvement from homicidal rage, and Dick could live with it.

* * *

Slowly he retracted his out stretched arms and held them briefly in surrender before they dropped down to his sides. He offered Jason a small smirk that was returned with a slight twitch of the corner of his brother's mouth, it was the closest he'd come to a smile while sober in a long time.

"Jay…your burgers are on fire."

A howling of multilingual obscenities permeated the air as flame licked burgers and blackened hotdogs were pulled free of the coals. Tim and Damian appeared over Dick's shoulder eyeing the charred lumps wearily.

"Eat them!"

Hell's fire burned within Jason's eyes, the blue-green oceans piercing his siblings into submission. They muscled down three bites each of a burned barbeque product before the rogue Robin gave in.

"I'll order the pizza." Gracelessly spitting out a glob of blackened goo, Jason ignored the stifled snickers of his family and reluctantly dialed the number for Cappetto's.

* * *

**AN: I don't really know if I would call this fluff, just a bit of peacemaking. 0.o Anyway I know I said this would be the last fluff ball before things got twisted, but...I need one more moment between Dick and JayJay before we hit the nitty gritty. Love as always to all you awesome reviewers, and just a bit of advice, don't let Jay cook ya dinner. **


	14. The Shadow of Warning

_-The shadow of warning._

**If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. -Mother Teresa**

Silent, dark— it was strange the way the manor seemed to reflect the man who'd owned it. Patches of light falling only upon space touched by his various wards. Jason thought of the hallowed halls as the winding corridors of Bruce's long dead heart. Dick's room, Damian's, and even Tim's seemed like scattered beacons of light in the darkness. Alfred's kitchen, a place of safety and stability where even the Batman was occasionally forced into the subtle motions of life, just like the ones _normal_ people went through daily.

So where did that leave him? Jason couldn't help but wonder.

It had been a quick journey, one he could still walk with his eyes closed and hands bound. Sucking in a breath he flicked the light switch, only to be met with the same shade of black he'd already been peering into. As his eyes adjusted, moonlight making an effort to help, he got his answer.

Not a thing was out of place. Everything was just as he'd left it the night before he and Bruce had taken that fateful mission in Lebanon. Dirty socks thrown in a pile, empty soda cans strewn across every flat surface, even the corner of his first Playboy was still sticking out from underneath his old mattress. Time had forgotten his room, just as Bruce had tried and failed to forget him.

He was the scar, the shadow of warning that had hung over the manor and all of its occupants for _years_.

How was he supposed to live with that, how was he supposed to get past it?

Shifting the weight of the backpack on his shoulders, Jason gave in to his curiosity and ran his hand under the pillow sitting at the head of his bed. Beneath it he was oddly satisfied to find the batarang he had kept there for so many years, it had made him feel…safe. Not that he'd admit it, but it still did.

Pocketing the weapon he stepped lightly toward the far window, clouds of dust rising off any surface he brushed. With a slight nudge the pane gave way, crisp night air whipping through the dark room with a violent vengeance.

Stepping out onto the roof Jason froze, one hand tensing around his recovered batarang.

* * *

"Most people use the front door." Dick was leaned against the window edge, clad in nothing but an old Gotham Knights t-shirt and sweats. His blue-black hair danced wildly around his shoulder blades, obscuring any chance of Jason getting a good look at his facial expression. The acrobat seemed so at ease on the roofs edge, barefoot no less. He got the feeling his 'brother' had spent a lot of time navigating the manor's steepled and winding features.

Honestly Jason should have known bird boy wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You won't stop me."

"I'm not trying to." The answer surprised Jason, probably a bit more than it should have. He really had to work on honing those detective skills Bruce had been so damn adamant about.

Effortlessly Dick closed the space between them, his feet leading without falter. "I knew you wouldn't stick around forever Jay. That's too much to hope for, even for me. But five days, five full days. It was nice." His eyes strayed across the backpack on Jason's shoulders, no doubt recognizing it as his own with the telltale bulges of the equipment his brother had filched from them.

* * *

Jason couldn't contain his scoff. He shouldn't have stayed one day, let alone five. No matter how much he'd enjoyed the little reunion, he could not justify the choice he'd made to squander away so much time.

"There's a storm coming."

It seemed an offhanded comment to make but as Dick followed his brother's gaze toward the glowing expanse of Gotham he realized his brother's words had nothing at all to do with the worsening weather.

"You sound like you're looking forward to it." It wasn't so much accusation in Dick's voice as it was apprehension.

"I'm adaptable."

That was one way to put it; Dick thought that homicidal vigilant was etched somewhere within the latent terms.

"You are not."

Dick didn't so much as bat an eye at the subtle insult. Without reply he watched Jason throw himself recklessly from the fourth floor downward. Thunder rumbled in the distance, almost drowning out his final cry.

* * *

"Hey Hoodie!"

Jason turned, snatching the paper bag from the air. An undeniably sinful aroma radiated off it, Alfred's delicious chocolate-chip cookies nearly overflowing inside. Reluctantly he made to call out a thank you, but as a flash of lightning cracked the night sky above Wayne Manor Jason realized the shadowed silhouette of his brother had already vanished.

"More like the bat each day."

His muttered words were lost on the wind as he shielded his precious cargo from the worsening drizzle. Sprinting into the dark, Red Hood once again disappeared within the belly of the beast.

* * *

**AN: First and foremost a gigantic thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, totally feeling the aster everybody. Oh yeah the third trailer released to The Dark Knight Rises...blew my mind! For all you Tim lovers, the inevitable is nearing and I'll leave it at that. :)**


	15. Call to Arms

_-Call to arms._

"**If a train is coming at you, closing your eyes won't save you ... but if you look right at it, you at least have a chance to jump." ― Andrew Vachss**

Wind whistled through the freshly boarded window, tugging at Roy's ruffled hair. A creak on the floor boards had him subtly drawing an arrow from the quiver he'd been restocking. In one fluid motion he had the tip poised squarely at a leather covered chest.

"_Jesus_."

Roy relaxed, lowering the fatally poised projectile.

Jason stepped from the shadows, a cookie in his mouth and an eyebrow arched. "Sorry Roy boy, but I'm only holy after gunshot or two."

The archer could sense the blue-green orbs staring holes into his chest, whether it was with suspicion or surprise he'd never know. "You're gonna get shot for doing that one day, and I don't miss." There was a hint of a threat in his voice though it wavered under the weight of gratitude. Roy had been wearing thin, patrolling all of Gotham with only the occasional helping hand had proved tiring. He understood the need for all of the batclan's members to take a breather, but word was getting around about the big bats absence and it wasn't helping him any.

"Wouldn't have done ya much good," Jason trapped the shirt beneath his biker jacket, the sound surprisingly solid. "Kevlar weaved tunic."

Roy arched an eyebrow at that, the domino mask pulling at his skin. It was standard bat issue, but Jason hadn't had it when they'd left. Hell he'd personally had to raid Nightwing's closet when his red hoodie had failed against the onslaught of bullets that rained down upon them from time to time, if Dick had noticed or minded for that matter he hadn't said anything about it.

* * *

Roy couldn't help it, the slight swell of concern that rose in his chest. Jason had been good to him; as good as he was capable of being. Roy's first loyalty was to the world's innocent but the Rod Hood and the man behind it came in a close second. But that loyalty couldn't erase the fact that Dick Grayson had saved his skin in and out of costume with more determination than even his so called father. If he could help it, he wouldn't let harm befall either of the two.

Rubbing his neck hesitantly he decided to press his luck, Jason had been more talkative that he had been in months and the ass owed him for taking on the job of handling the scum of Gotham _solo_ for a nearly a whole damn week.

"How is he?" Roy only truly cared to ask of one, selfish considering the ties he held to the extensive clan, he knew.

Jason grunted and almost didn't give an answer as he pulled on his signature red hood, zipping his jacket over the stolen supplies.

"He's hurting…a lot. But he's alive, for now anyway."

Without waiting for reply or checking to see if his occasional acquaintance was following, Jason punched out the boards Roy had replaced, landing on the rusted fire escape with an ominous groan from the strained metal. Taking a quick inventory of the alley, he swept down into the streets, guns loaded.

* * *

Roy's worry was eased slightly, and then reignited into a fiery blaze. Even when he'd hated Dick Grayson, he'd never wished for the man to suffer. Someone so optimistic so _good_, just didn't deserve the pain of it all.

Pinching his eyes shut behind his mask, the archer snatched a cookie from the bag Jason had abandoned. It was the last one left and he could easily read the subtle thank you meant behind it. A scream split the air, followed closely by the heavy footfalls of a homicidal but loveable vigilante. Stringing an arrow, Roy followed swiftly after him.

Against the dark underbellies of the clouds above a batsignal lit the night sky.

Gotham's call to arms—

* * *

Silently the reporters lips moved, the word mute glowing in the corner of the computer screen. Dick had seen the story twice already, a group of dockside thugs bound, gagged, but alive and delivered to the front steps of the county court house. Lined up shoulder to shoulder the spray painted mark on their exposed chests formed an obvious symbol, the bat symbol.

"Message received Jaybird." Rubbing his face tiredly he dissolved the screen at the sound of approaching footsteps, trying to pretend he hadn't been speaking aloud to a chunk of technology. As he swiveled in the chair Dick couldn't help the way his face fell when he caught sight of Tim. Despite nearly being an adult himself, his little brother looked so tiny and vulnerable in the enormity of the great cave.

"Tim."

* * *

The grave tone to his brother's voice startled the boy in question, while Dick hadn't been his usual ball of sunshine; the brooding grimace was still disturbing to say the least. Stopping where he stood, Tim eyed the cowl in Dick's hand and noted the way his thumbs wouldn't stop sliding along the fabric. Perhaps his brother had finally made the seemingly inevitable choice. Gotham needed a Batman after all.

It would explain the tension, the guilt. His older brother was always being a sucker to his emotions.

"You're my equal, in some ways even better. You've proven your strength in both mind and body, with the Titans and here. But your nearly an adult and there comes a time when you have to take up your own identity, launch your own crusade against the world's evils. This is your time…"

The words sounded rehearsed, even to Dick's own ears and he couldn't help but to crush the ink smeared note card he held in his fist. Seeing the waver in his brother's eyes nearly broke him but he had to think about what was best for _both_ of his youngest brothers. Tim could and would eventually handle himself, but Damian; he needed an outlet and one with a great deal of structure.

* * *

Tim shrank back a couple of steps, hearing his brother's words without entirely understanding them.

"Dick…Dick, what are you doing?" His voice was barely above a whisper, fresh tears threatening to spill. This was all he had left of Bruce, he couldn't— he wouldn't let it go.

"I'm sorry," Dick's eyes radiated the apology, knowing the pain of replacement himself. "But _Batman_ is firing another Robin."

* * *

Sucking in a breath, Tim tried to ignore the sound of his world exploding for the second time in only six days. Turning on his heel he tried to run, a firm grip on his wrist pulling him to a stop.

"Where are you going?"

Jerking out of his brother's grip Tim shook his head. "Leaving, I'm fired aren't I?" He spat the words with venom he soon regretted; he didn't need to look at his brother to see how the tone had hurt him.

"As Robin, not as my brother, or ward— My equal or not you_ are_ seventeen." The logic was firm but Tim was ready to rival it, anything to escape the cave with a shred of dignity.

"If you trust me as your equal, let me go." Dick's grip faltered and fell away, Tim almost appreciated it. "Let me go find…" He was tempted to say Bruce but thought better of the outlandish comment. "-my own way."

There was a hesitance in Dick's eyes a desperate plea to not lose another loved one in such quick succession. "Write me, call me, any and every form of regular contact and no matter what… home by Christmas with a beating heart and a sound mind."

It was the closest thing to permission Tim would get and he leapt at the chance, sprinting toward the stairs. Once he stood at the entrance he allowed himself to glance back just slightly. This sight of his brother's crestfallen form, hunched under an invisible weight would haunt him every step of his journey. It wasn't till he was sitting in Gotham's International airport that he found the strength to text his brother the words he should have said.

"_I love you. I forgive you. I believe in you."_

* * *

With an undeniable sense of curiosity Damian had watched Drake storm from the study, having been down in the cave where Grayson had been lurking all morning. Pennyworth had seemed as perplexed as he when the troublesome teen had torn through the house, stuffing anything he considered worthy into an overly large duffle bag.

Beyond his hearing range was a quick exchange between the butler and the boy, somewhere along the line Damian was sure a bag of cookies and a wad of cash had been handed to the seemingly departing Drake. With a baseball cap pulled down over his face, obscuring most of it, his so called brother had paused with one hand on the front door. Powder blue eyes had looked up teary and intense, with a warning that Damian did not quite grasp.

* * *

Slipping from his seat before Pennyworth could stop him Damian wandered down to the cave. Grayson was standing with his fists clutching at a mass of fabric. His eyes flickered upward and while he was quick to conceal it Damian hadn't missed the bone chilling hollowness that had haunted the other's eyes.

Edging closer he pointed brazenly toward the costume Grayson was gripping so strongly, one eyebrow cocked curiously.

"What is that?"

Without warning Dick had shoved it into his slightly outstretched arms, pulling a halfhearted smile.

"Something Bruce would have wanted you to have." Dick replied with a slight ruffle of his little brother's midnight locks.

With slight awe Damian took in the hood of the costume and the nature of its flamboyance. He traced the signature 'R' with gentle reverence. It was not the legacy of his father but it was a step in the right direction. And though he would argue otherwise Damian whispered a quiet 'thank you.'

* * *

Thirty thousand feet above earth Tim was settled into his plane seat, bound for Paris. Spinning a blank disc lightly on his fingertip he thought back to the audio chip he'd left in Bruce's desk drawer and if it would have been a good idea to inform Dick of its contents, if it would somehow ease the pain his older brother had seemed to be drowning in.

There was a reason the chip had survived Jason's attack, Tim just knew it.

Sliding the ripped copy into his laptop he plugged in a pair of headphones. Static filled his ears the clarity was minimal and the speech to Damian lost forever… but the ending, Bruce's true parting words remained oddly intact.

* * *

"_Give me a moment boys, to be the father I never was. Let me say the words I should have said in person and that I now regret I didn't. I am proud of each of you…and I love you so very much."_

* * *

**AN: Soooo, tonight is going to be a double upload of the final two chapters of 'All My Brothers.' Remember to click that next button for zee final chapter, and as always a loving thanks to the reviewers.**


	16. Stay Close

_-Stay Close._

**You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes. ~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.**

Heavy-

The cape, the cowl, and the fitted armor felt so damn _heavy._

But Dick was willing to pile that weight upon that which was already cast upon his shoulders. He could deny the facts no longer, Gotham needed a Batman, and somewhere deep with his heart he knew he needed Batman too.

Alfred stood to the side, equally proud and pained about seeing his eldest grandchild don the mantle of the bat. Dick had read the subtle, bodily message all day. The trusty butler had buried enough members of the Wayne family; the list did not need to be added to. Should Dick fail to meet that expectation, death would be the least of his problems in comparison to the wrath of the stately English man.

Registering a nearly silent pitter patter of feet Dick turned in a swirl of blackness toward the staircase. An iron fist seemed to seize his heart, clenching it in a merciless grip. Everything looked so different from behind the cowl, it was like there was a vision setting for sinister and it never turned off. The uniform he'd had commissioned for Damian suddenly seemed to paint a glaring target on his little bird's chest. Such a thought robbed him of his breath, a weakness he would have to overcome. Had Bruce been alive Dick would have shamelessly apologized for all the hell he must have put the man through.

* * *

Damian shifted from one foot to another and if Dick didn't know better he might have thought the kid wasn't ready to face what Gotham had spiraled into. But they didn't have a choice, not this far in. Opening his arms, cape cast backward he welcomed the solid embrace Damian hit him with, thin but muscular arms wrapped around his middle.

"Don't go, please don't go." The plea was so softly spoken it was only because of the cowl's mic system that Dick caught it.

"I have to, _we_ have to." They were Batman and Robin; they had to answer that fading batsignal before it blinked out altogether and plunged the sinking city into utter darkness.

Before launching the child into the greedy maw of the unknown, Dick hugged him firmly to his chest.

"Stay close my baby bird, stay close."

Instead of the annoyed snarl Dick had expected, a reassuring promise dropped from between his Robin's lips instead.

"_Always_."

* * *

**AN: So last night's double upload was a total fail, blame the internet trolls that broke my connection about two seconds after I uploaded chapter 15. **

**I hope you liked the brief conclusion to 'All My Brothers.' However a little Robin told me something about a sequel lurking about, perhaps by the title of 'All My Soldiers.' ;)**

**One last shout out to all of my truly amazing reviewers, love you guys, and stay tuned.**


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